Nick
A laugh. It came from the far side of the room, high and bright, cutting straight through the heavy thumping of the bass.
I recognized it instantly. I didn't want to admit that I knew the exact sound of his voice from fifty feet away, so I filed that thought away in a dark drawer in my mind and locked it.
I walked toward the back, where the floor stepped up into a raised VIP area.
Cyan was sitting in the middle of a large, curved leather booth.
He was surrounded by a small crowd of people who were all leaning in close to him, two women with impossibly high heels, a few feminine looking guys in mesh shirts, and a drag queen who still had half her face painted in dramatic glitter.
They were loud, they were laughing, and they looked entirely comfortable in their own skin, like they owned the room and didn't give a damn who knew it.
I stopped a few feet away, my hands shoved into my coat pockets, my eyes narrowing as I looked them over. It was an automatic reaction.
